Satish Verma, 29 december 2020
Like the banana peel
thrown on the sidewalk, you
come across the life.
And you still go on, in the-
search of moonlight-
without pills.
The drugged sleep.
Unorthodoxly you insult
the sun. And one-liners
go abegging for the listeners.
You are talking to your
peers now, long dead.
Fair amount of water, is
needed to sink.
The river merchant has brought
no fish.
Satish Verma, 28 december 2020
Like a snake
it moves.
My poem.
You are not, what you were
in the night, lightning
the grey moon.
I hear, what you
did not say or did-
not think.
Even dark
forebodings, move like red
ants, from the slit eyes.
I cover the faults
via songbird, which
was calling, desperately,
unwaitingly.
Satish Verma, 27 december 2020
You decline to speak-
to listen-
to see
like a meditating Buddha.
Like a sunflower
with moon seeds,
ready to explode at sunset.
Strangulated-
neck, hanged from a tree
to tell the tale-
that you were violated.
This was the principle of
cosmic order. Poor god
waits for the world
to show the rage.
I wake up the tree.
Leaves fall like unspoken words
from the decaying oak.
Satish Verma, 26 december 2020
In suddenness, I will
write a poem for you.
You had stopped at the
outset, like a black moon
opening up perfervidly.
Remote from the oneness
of life, a flame leapt up
to ignite the process of birth-
without perceiving.
Come let's meet at the
navel of the destiny.
I had the penchant of
burning myself.
You, who would never be
visible, I will dust all the mirrors
to find out.
Waiting for the festival to begin.
Satish Verma, 25 december 2020
Refusing to be
healed.
A wound will stay awake.
Mired in bitter controversy,
the captain said-
the war was not a deliberate act of
atoning for the soul.
That prevents the sun
to come out after a long night.
You walk in the light years,
gaunt and dazed,
in pain of hunger. The words
hang in shame.
A city fails, for
another voice of verse,
Renato N. Mascardo, 24 december 2020
nativity in the year of corona
no joy
in this age of
the desolate yet there
is comfort in the isolate
of two//
renato
25 december 2020
Satish Verma, 24 december 2020
Stoma
opens, ejects the scream.
Oh, my god.
The ink spilled
on the sheet, hiding the code.
The scared veins
of pure honey, wets the lips-
of gills. There is no salt.
The water explodes
bursting the dam. No spine was
worth of robbery.
Golden nuggets
are displayed now. Would you
bargain the uphill?
The nightmares begin again.
Satish Verma, 23 december 2020
Overreaching for chemical signs
and word for word,
you want to move on-
without parents.
This was only a poetic
idea, that no weapon will
be used for execution.
Not offering an apology,
we were dissecting the ethics
of violence and war.
A chilling reminder, you are
going to starve the definitions.
But no clarity was visible.
I am becoming bones
and taut nerves.Only eyes
were looking ahead of the tempest.
Roofs were melting.
You want to hit the sky.
Renato N. Mascardo, 21 december 2020
passers
in time
many become
few friendships' circle shrinks
diametered and circumferenced
by strife
boredom
and loss until
fellowships in the end
join solitude in reluctance
as one//
renato
sunday 20 december 2020
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